The Interim - A Magic the Gathering Story
by UzumakiHinata90
Summary: The Gatewatch planeswalked away from Dominaria with the Blackblade in hand, but Liliana was trapped behind. Bound by her demonic pact, Liliana follows Bolas away from Dominaria and possibly away from her last chance at happiness. This story follows several characters in the interim between the events on Dominaria and Bolas's invasion of Ravnica.
1. Chapter 1

Liliana

Crossing the Blind Eternities in the wake of Nicol Bolas was slightly more pleasant than being caught in the wake of a large ship; the current pushed Liliana down and away while concurrently preventing her escape. Whether her inability to pull away was due to some nefarious clause in the dragon's contract, or her own unwillingness to run, she wasn't sure.

Bolas had been silent since they'd left Dominaria, where she learned that there was no escape to a contract brokered by an Elder Dragon. Liliana had once met a diabolist on Innistrad (David...Domrial...Davriel...something like that) who had a knack for brokering contracts with demons. She'd dismissed the minor lord as insignificant at the time, but now wished she'd retained his services before brokering her agreement with Nicol Bolas.

She felt a tug in her chest as she materialized beside a still, silver lake on a serene plane. Liliana had spent time on Nicol Bolas's Meditation Plane before and had often thought it hubristic of him to have shown its location to others. It should be a peaceful place to withdraw from the chaos of the Multiverse; however, the giant twisted horns rising up from the lake and the edifices Bolas had erected of, and to, himself that surrounded the lake destroyed the serenity. As far as the eye could see, silver ground composed of no natural material Liliana knew of spread out in every direction. No grass grew, there were no trees. All that marked the landscape were the lake, pitches and small hillocks, and awful statues of Bolas in various poses. An entire plane dedicated to self-indulgence.

Bolas was already there, gazing into the lake. He used it to view activities on other planes, managing his affairs from afar. His slithering, hissing voice snaked into Liliana's mind.

"Your attempt to free yourself was admirable, while stupid." His baritone chuckle echoed inside and outside her skull, echoing off the stone replicas of himself. "You've grown strong in your attempt to escape the bonds that bind you to me, but this is where you must recognize the limits of your strength."

Liliana kept her mind still so the dragon couldn't pry into her thoughts.

"Your discovery of my Eternals on Amonkhet was timely, I imagine that even your inferior human intellect has put the pieces together."

She still didn't respond. Nothing infuriated Bolas more than disinterest in his grand Multiverse altering plans. He snapped his jaw, and a tendril of smoke wafted from his nostrils. Liliana allowed herself this small moment of triumph at having irritated him.

"Go back to Amonkhet. You will find an army waiting for you there. I need to know that you're strong enough to control them all or if I must find another necromancer."

As Liliana prepared to planeswalk away, he said, "I imagine that I need not inform you of the consequences of running away. There is nowhere unknown to me in the Multiverse."

A bead of sweat dripped down Liliana's temple and landed on her purple silk bodice, creating a small stain. She grimaced.

I didn't sacrifice years of my life just to end up a slave on some half-destroyed useless plane. She flicked her wrist at the mummy standing to her left on the balcony overlooking the destroyed city, and it trotted off to find her some wine.

When she'd first arrived on Amonkhet with the idealistic Gatewatch a few months ago, Amonkhet had been a thriving plane populated by enthusiastic youths and their undead servants. Had it not been ruled by Bolas, it might have been even more suited to her needs than Innistrad.

Now it's pyramids lay in ruins, its obelisks toppled, and its dwellings smashed. She hadn't seen another human since she'd arrived; for all she knew, the fallen gods had done their duty and killed them all. It wasn't any of her business what happened to the insignificant multitudes of the Multiverse.

She checked herself at the thought. It wasn't her business anymore what happened to them. She was sure that if there were a way to expel someone from the Gatewatch, it would be done to her.

The mummy returned, holding a bent chalice brimming with deep red wine. Bolas had constructed or re-constructed, a palace in the center of the ruins of Naktamun. While the vast halls and vaulted ceilings indicated that it was built for the God-Pharaoh and not his resident necromancer, she assumed there wasn't any harm in moving in while she worked. In fact, there were human-sized chambers on the uppermost floors with balconies that looked out onto destroyed streets.

It was on one such balcony that Liliana stood, surveying the city. She'd been here for a little over a week and had spent the first few days wandering the ruins, trying to think of a way out of her current situation. After determining that anything she'd do had probably been foreseen by Bolas and might actually assist him if she wasn't careful, she decided to take on the task assigned her and wait for an opportunity to strike.

The palace was "staffed" by a retinue of mummified former champions who provided her with food, washed her clothes, and attended to any other needs she might have, all without her using her necromancy to command them.

_Oh, but what if you did use it?_ The voices of the Onakke in the Chain Veil had whispered to her in those first hours on Amonkhet. _You could seize his army...overthrow him! With our combined power, we would rule this plane!_

She had ignored the voices, as she always did. They were becoming more explicit, though, and that troubled her. Initially, she had only heard whispers, fragments of thoughts in foreign tongues. Now it spoke to her as if they were old friends, and she didn't like it.

She sipped from the chalice and retreated back into the palace, away from the blazing suns. Inside, great curtains hung from ceiling to floor. The floor was covered in exotic rugs so soft that her bare feet sank an inch with every step. A chaise lounge sat on a dais on the opposite side of the room from the balcony surrounded by scattered scrolls that Liliana had collected and attempted to decipher in her first few days. She was curious about the plane pre-Bolas and wondered if these people might have anything useful to offer. Thus far, their hieroglyphics had eluded her and the effort given her headaches.

She walked past the dais and left the room, entering the hall and descending the stairs into the giant entrance chamber. This chamber was a vaulted room supported by 18 intricately decorated columns depicting battle scenes. Upon examination, these were all battles where Bolas appeared to be vanquishing his many foes on various planes.

The stairs on which she descended were one of two sets that curved around a dais that elevated a dragon-sized throne. One of the things about Bolas that amused Liliana was the way he walked on two legs and used human objects like chairs. He imagined that they made him more dignified and set him about other dragons. She saw a certain irony in his imitation of human habits as indicators of his greatness.

She walked around the dais and proceeded out of the hall into the street. It was quiet. The only mummies were those that served in the palace and the ones far underground in the lazotep mines. Every so often, an accursed zombie would wander into the old city, but she would simply take control of it and send it in another direction.

The blazing afternoon sun beat down upon her, causing her to pause and consider whether purple silk was really the most ideal desert wear. But, like Bolas, she had an image to preserve. And she hadn't intended to ever go to Amonkhet again.

She made her way past empty homes and training arenas until she arrived at the base of one of Amonkhet's great pyramids. There was a small entrance on the side that she ducked into, grateful for the shade.

Inside, it was cool and a bit humid. Hieroglyphics lined the walls, depicting events and gods that no one on Amonkhet remembered. She couldn't imagine her entire culture being a mystery. Though having just witnessed the degradation of her family's lands on Dominaria, and finally destroying Josu, she considered whether a wipe of her past wouldn't be half bad.

A mummy appeared at her side carrying a torch, and she followed it into the depths of the pyramid. They weaved through passages and descended into the earth until she could hear the familiar clank of lazotep being molded.

At the bottom of the stairs, the room opened up into an enormous, blue-lit chamber nearly the size of the pyramid's base. Mummies worked plating the bodies of humans, minotaurs, khenra, and aven in gleaming blue lazotep. Underneath one of the other pyramids, a similar process was taking place with some of Amonkhet's wildlife - manticores, crocodiles, and hippos, among others. And in a third was Bolas's most ambitious project: eternalizing the fallen gods, Bontu, Kefnet, and Oketra.

Liliana had no fondness for gods. Before the mending, she'd been more powerful than most of the gods she'd ever met, and she was close to attaining that level of power again. Despite this, she was uneasy when she discovered that Hazoret had not been killed with the others. She did not have any desire to battle a god on Amonkhet.

She moved from room to room, occasionally pausing to watch a partially maimed mummy pour liquid lazotep over the skeleton of a fallen comrade or beast. When she was assured that Bolas's operations were proceeding without any problems, she made her way back out of the pyramid into the evening sun.


	2. Chapter 2

Standing on a bluff that provided a vantage point of Naktamun, Samut shaded her eyes against the setting suns and surveyed the ruins of the city. The ground behind her quaked as Hazoret approached from behind. Samut didn't even reach the god's knee, so when she turned from the city to bow reverently to Hazoret, she was blinded by the glint of the suns off of Hazoret's gold shin bracers.

Samut knelt before Hazoret, now Amonkhet's only god, and said, "My lady, I have been observing the city for several weeks now. It appears that it is minimally occupied by mummies and the planeswalker, Liliana, who I believe has cast aside her facade of being on our side."

Hazoret sighed and knelt to the ground so that she didn't tower quite so dramatically over her tiny acolyte. Samut had noticed that the god seemed to physically feel the burden of being the only god left to the straggling band of people on Amonkhet. "I STILL BELIEVE THAT IT WILL BE IMPOSSIBLE TO SECURE TRUE SAFETY WITHOUT THE PROTECTION OF THE HEKMA. DESPITE THE CHALLENGES, WE HAVE TO RECOVER THE CITY OR AT LEAST SOME PART OF THE CITY."

Hazoret's voice rumbled like a coming storm. Samut could hear it with her ears and inside her mind simultaneously. She remembered that Oketra, Rhonas, and Kefnet had preferred exclusively telepathic conversation while Bontu had only vocalized externally. For some reason, Hazoret was the only one to use the two methods simultaneously.

Samut nodded in response. Though they'd established a respectable camp in the past few weeks using the items they'd been able to salvage from the outskirts of the city and things that Hazoret had unearthed from ruins beneath the sand, it was no substitution for the Hekma.

"Let us return to camp. We'll convene with the council, and I will inform them of your decision."

Hazoret held out her hand to Samut, who climbed into the god's palm. With a jolt, Hazoret rose from the sand, golden face gleaming in the last rays of the suns, and they moved back across the sands to the camp.

The camp established by the refugees of Naktamun was home to almost 400 Survivors of the God-Pharaoh. The early days had been a rude awakening. Everyone in the camp had spent every day of their lives training and had few skills beyond hand-to-hand combat. Some of the viziers that had abandoned their dead gods had a few more nuanced skills, like creating potions and basic cooking.

The wizards among their number had spent weeks learning to transform their knowledge of destruction into that of creation. They learned to join fabric without the use of needle and thread, and they learned how to make small, contained cookfires that wouldn't spread beyond their magical barriers. Some of the most talented refugee wizards had discovered how to recreate some of the Hekma's properties and could maintain a quasi-solid barrier to prevent the undead from wandering into the camp. Attacks did still happen, and in this, at least, the Survivors were well prepared.

Hazoret set Samut down at the border of the camp. At her arrival, those nearby knelt briefly before carrying on with their duties. Samut surveyed the goings-on of the camp, amazed to see so many whom she knew engaged in the mundane activities of daily life. Freed from the constraints of barracks, people were forming relationships, and someday, she hoped they'd have families. Carvings unearthed from ruins had shown the Survivors that their ancestors had a very different life consisting of individual homes, work, and children. Now, they were trying to return to a way of life that none of them had actually ever known.

She strode through the camp, greeting people as she moved. In the center, they had erected a large tent that served as both her sleeping quarters and a council chamber. Initially, she'd had her own small tent, but it was more efficient to eat and sleep where she worked, so she'd moved her bedroll into the main tent. Samut pulled the canvas aside and started when she saw Djeru leaning over her table, rummaging through various hand-drawn maps and lists. He turned when she entered.

"How was scouting?" he asked.

"Nothing of interest. I think you were right in your assumption that Bolas is no longer interested in eliminating us. The God-Pharoah seems to have left the situation for his necromancer to wrap up. If we're lucky, she'll soon leave us too," she paused.

Djeru looked up from the papers, "What is it?"

"Hazoret has decided to retake the city. She thinks she can restore the Hekma."

He raised an eyebrow, "I'm not surprised. Our wizards have done an excellent job with their wards, but they require constant attention and don't have the range of the Hekma. Not to mention, we'd gain access to the available materials in the city, which is much better than Hazoret digging up things from the sand."

"You don't seem to need much convincing."

"I don't relish the thought of launching an invasion in our current state, but it's the best chance we have for long-term survival. Besides, if our God has decided that this is our path, who am I to argue."

Samut dropped into a chair with a huff. "I don't like it either. We don't know really know what kind of numbers are in the city. And we don't know what the necromancer is capable of." She looked around the tent as if a strategy would present itself on one of the canvas walls or from the paper-covered table that Djeru stood behind.

"We'll call a council meeting in the morning and request the advice of Hazoret." He paused, "Do you remember Gideon?"

Samut nodded.

"When he first arrived, he told me he hated gods, and I considered striking him down on the spot for such blasphemy. Now I understand why he hated gods. Come, let's go find something to eat!"


	3. Chapter 3

Hazoret couldn't remember life before the God-Pharaoh; he had wiped those memories from her mind. There were probably eons that she had forgotten, which made her feel as helpless as her children. She was as lost as they in the desert.

As she used her powers to excavate ruins from the sands, she had uncovered images of herself from ages past. As she pieced together her personal history, it became abundantly clear is that she was a god of battle and war, not of leadership, benevolence, or growth.

Now, she stood on the edge of a camp of Survivors and felt out of place. She once had a glorious temple with sumptuous rooms built for a being of her stature. Now, there was no practicality in constructing a tent to house her. Materials were in short supply, and her children couldn't withstand the harsh desert environments that didn't affect her.

Hazoret spent nights watching the desert and repelling undead that wandered too close. It was a lonely occupation for a god struggling with her purpose. She envied Samut to whom leadership and authority came naturally. Despite Samut's authority, her deference to Hazoret was a constant reminder that Hazoret was the only god on Amonkhet, and she needed to be a god for all people.

As stars appeared overhead, Hazoret searched the heavens for constellations from the stories that the people told in the camp. She had decided to retake Naktamun, and her word was law. But she was afraid, also a new sensation. What if it didn't work? What if she was leading her remaining children to the slaughter?

She'd never thought of them as children before the coming of the God Pharoah. Her sister, Oketra, was the one with a fierce love for each one of them. Hazoret hadn't understood that sentiment; there were so many people, and they would all die someday. There wasn't any point in getting attached, not even to her viziers.

Now, each life was infinitely precious to her, and each loss created a scar that would never heal. And she had put a plan in motion that they couldn't all survive.


End file.
